Iris
by Celinarose
Summary: Once upon a time, a wizard met a squib. Then she ceased to exist. Didn't she? A Mollcroft story. HP crossover. (Rewrite of 'Irises').
1. Chapter 1

_It's so painfully obvious_  
_How could you miss_  
_Something that's this plain to see_  
_When it's glaring, and staring_  
_Right at you_  
_So obviously_

* * *

She still remembers why she ran away from the world she was born into. She simply couldn't take it anymore. All that the Wizarding world of Britain had given her were shifty eyes, fake smiles, and false reassurances... and the feeling that she was not good enough to be like _them. _They were disappointed in her, all of them. How could they not be? She was the daughter of two of the most famous people on the side of the Light. Two people who had defied Voldemort thrice. They deserved a daughter who would make them proud, who would avenge them. But she couldn't.

She could see it in everyone's glance: _What a tragedy. The daughter of the Longbottoms, their eldest child, a squib._

Oh they would never dare it say it out loud, of course. For the sake of propriety, for the sake of their pity which she was really much better off without. Or perhaps because they were afraid of what Alice or Frank might do to them. The atter would never be an issue, she knew, in her heart. Her parents had learnt to hide their disappointment better than the others, perhaps because of the practice they constantly got, but she was no less a 'tragedy' to her, than she was to anyone else.

And yet, '_they would never love her less for it._' She wondered if it were true, why it needed stating so often? She was not deaf or blind, despite what they clearly seemed to think. She saw the strange glances the people on the street gave her. The hushed whispers that followed them whenever they were in public. And so soon enough Iris Longbottom had found herself virtually under house arrest, partly self-imposed, when the jabs and sneers started bordering on slightly less subtle, and partly imposed by her oh-so-caring parents.

She didn't really blame them. They were trying to protect her, and give a relatively 'normal' and 'muggle' despite their lack of knowledge on the subject.

But she didn't want that. She didn't want the pseudo-muggle life, hidden behind walls, that was the best thing she could ever get in Wizarding Britain. She deserved better. She deserved _happier._ So she did the only thing she could do.

Run.

* * *

_**Notes: A rewrite for this has been in my mind for a long time, so here it is! This will be chapterwise, and hopefully better written than the previous version. (Original found at: .net(slash)**__**s/11953837/1/Irises )**_

_**The song lyrics at the beginning are from Dear Evan Hansen's "Obvious".**_


	2. Chapter 2

_It's been a long day without you, my friend_  
_And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again_  
_We've come a long way from where we began_  
_Oh I'll tell you all about it when I see you again_

* * *

She never really got around to hating them. But she felt less pain than she thought she ought to, that night. At least, for their sake. But they were not the only ones she would be leaving.

_Him._ She wondered how he would react. She would miss him more than anyone else, this she knew. It hurt, the thought of severing all ties with him. Worse yet, she could not simply disappear into the night just like she would have preferred to. She would have to meet him, because she needed his help. She would have to see the disappointment in his eyes. She had hoped it would be dark enough, that night.

But of course, she was not lucky enough. The image of his face was seared into her mind. She never wanted to do anything that would ever cause her to see it again. The chances of that were few anyway. She did not plan to return. Ever. And he was still a part of that world, much as he liked to pretend otherwise.

It still hurts, sometimes. Every time she thinks of it. _So much for_ _time 'healing' everything._ She promises herself she will never let herself close enough to anyone else for it to ever matter again, but she is wrong. Very wrong, for her defenses are easily broken by the Holmeses and Watsons.

And when Sherlock jumps from the roof, the pain comes rushing back, multiplied manyfold by the fact that she knows he isn't _dead_, but dead to the world. She wonders if that is what she is too. Dead to one world. She is privy to the plan, but it doesn't change the fact that she will not hear from him for a long time. She doesn't even an have an end-date to his plan. The world thinks he is a murderer. The world thinks he is dead.

They all think she is heartbroken over Sherlock. She lets them. She is hurt, but she is not quite in love with him as they seem to believe. She doesn't want to tell them the truth. She hardly cares enough about what they think, really. Besides, the truth is more absurd than the fiction they make up in their heads. Because she see someone else, and in that person, she sees _him._

For Molly, it never really was Sherlock.

* * *

_**Notes: Second Chapter! This one hints a bit at her friend :). This is hopefully more detailed and better paced than the original version, which was one of my main issues with it.**_

_**_** (Original found at: (fanfiction).net(slash)**__**s/11953837/1/Irises )**_**_

_**The song lyrics at the beginning are from Charlie Puth's "See You Again".**_


	3. Chapter 3

_Nevermind,_

_I'll find,_

_Someone like you._

She knows, from past experience, how to make the pain subside. She needs to form new friends, bury herself in her work, and just _distract_ herself. Pain, she knows, never stops, but not thinking will make her feel less guilty. Perhaps even stabilise her emotions.

That was what Tom is supposed to be, initially. A random man she meets for comfort, until he isn't random anymore. She likes him, so she never protests when he makes declarations of love and sweet promises to her. He is nice, stable. Good for her. Almost too good. Sometimes she thinks of the other 'Tom" she had heard of, in another world. It is quite hilarious to mentally compare the Dark Lord to this meek, innocent, and almost naive man, who clearly misreads her completely, since he asks her to marry him. She is taken aback by his proposal at first. She says yes, when she regains her senses enough, because he is ideal for her and everything will be perfect. At least that is what she tells herself.

She pretends that the other man who has been her source of solace over the two years doesn't matter to her in the same way, or rather, much much more. She pretends she doesn't see so much of her old friend in the man whose mask has slipped ever so slightly in the recent past. She pretends everything is all right.

Until the day Sherlock returns and she realises she let herself get carried away. This had never been the intention. Distractions were not meant to become habits. Tom is good, but he is not for _her._ He is almost a fake, a facsimile of Sherlock. She is mad at him for seeing through her within such a short time of returning, but she is secretly relieved because he has saved her.

But she, despite the cold-hearted names she refers to herself by, needs someone to her that night, and only one name comes to her mind. She doesn't pick up the phone. It is fruitless, she tells herself.

She regrets it for a long time.

**_Notes: Shorter chapter, but we must have a chapter about Tom! :D_**

**_(Original found at: (slash)s/11953837/1/Irises )_**

**_The song lyrics at the beginning are from Adele's 'Someone Like You'._**


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm a ghost of a girl_  
_That I want to be most_  
_I'm the shell of a girl_  
_That I used to know well_

* * *

Sherlock leaves again. She didn't even know of the crime he was going to commit. She wonders if it should have bothered her, the lack of his confidence in her, because it doesn't.

He says his goodbyes, but hers doesn't hurt as much as John's and even Mary's, seems to. Perhaps all for the better, because he is back in hours. _Hours,_ in which Moriarty too shows that he is not quite gone, even if he is dead. There is some irony in his return and his description of 'Jim from IT', that she cannot quite bring herself to laugh at, over the conditioned panic that builds in her throat. She remembers Sherlock describing him like a spider...with extensions of his web in places no one ever cared to look.

It is the same, scattered, seemingly endless web that takes Mary as its prey only months later, she supposes.

But Sherlock does not reply to her suspicions, when she asks about it. She knows better than to ask John. As for the elder Holmes, well. She wonders if their relationship is anything more than a cursory acquaintance, anymore. So she resigns herself to a not-quite-blissful ignorance about the circumstances regarding Mary's death.

But she sees them seething with a hidden something. She sees something looming over them, through the cases. When the news about the Culverton Smith affair breaks, she wonders if it is that which has been terrifying them. For a second, she believes the man, the stranger on the TV, who tells her that her old friend is a madman. After all, what does she _really_ know about him? Then, reminding herself of rationality, she pushes the thoughts away. Sherlock solves the case, as he always does. Everything comes together in the end...except it doesn't, because something is still very, very wrong, and this is not the disaster she is terrified of.

She sees the storm coming, for all of them, Sherlock, John, and _him_, but it is not the storm she thinks it is. She watches, from a distance. For that is what has grown between her and the rest of them, an unfathomable distance. From no fault of theirs or hers, really. They just live in a different world. A world such that she is right there, hovering around it, maintaining the farce of closeness, but never feeling so far apart.

Then, she hears the news. Mrs Hudson, hysterical, terrified. The men, all of them, missing. She feels like the air has been sucked right out of her.

* * *

_**Notes: A long-delayed chapter, sorry about that! I intend to make this version compliant with S4, unlike the original (which was written before S4 came out), hence the slight changes in storyline, which really shouldn't make that much of a difference overall.**_

_**_** (Original found at: (fanfiction).net(slash)**__**s/11953837/1/Irises )**_**_

_**The song lyrics at the beginning are from Christina Perri's "The Lonely".**_


	5. Chapter 5

_And how we feel is hard to fake_  
_So let's not give the game away_

_Just please don't say you love me_  
_'Cause I might not say it back_

* * *

She's working. No, she's cooking, maybe. She can't tell anymore.

Does it even matter? Her mind is elsewhere. Her knife chops obsessively, needing to be constantly doing something, cto be occupied, to have something, anything, to stop her form thinking about..._them._

They're still gone, and her heart is just about ready to burst out of her chest. Something is so wrong that she cannot put her finger on it. What she does instead, is almost chop her finger off, right before the phone rings.

The sound breaks her reverie and makes her jump. She rushed to it, hoping it was news, _good news_. Instead, it is him.

'Sherlock,' she whispers, but she knows he isn't calling from Baker Street like she was hoping he would. No, he's calling from what she can only assume is hell, from the note in his voice. He is scared. And remembering the only times she has seen him scared before doesn't help.

He tells her what he wants and it feels like a dagger through her heart. But she is not foolish. Her emotions are clouding her judgement, but her mind is not quite obscured. She knows there must be a reason. There is urgency in his voice. And so she overcomes the hesitation in hers. She says the words she might have meant once, but not anymore. Not in the way they think, at least.

She loves Sherlock. Just not in the way they want her to, she supposes. Even if he loves her...which she truly doubts, she cannot give it back to him. She is tempted to apologize, but that's not what he needs to hear right now, when his voice sounds like it will break any moment from carrying the weight of the world. So, she reserves the apologies and explanations for later.

When he cuts off, without explanation, soon after she says it, her doubts are confirmed. She goes back to her knife.

She only heard the details later, when they come back. When she meets Sherlock and John again. But Mycroft Holmes is there too, from the sides, glaring at her like she has committed a crime she does not know of.

She learns that he does, in fact, think her suspicious in some way, when she is detained by government officials later that evening. She is certain it is his doing, because she doesn't know any other man with enough power or motive.

She trembles a little in the cold basement where she is tied up, but her face is firm. She is not scared. She refuses to be. She has won her life against a whole country of wizards. She will not cave to one man, no matter how powerful he may be.

She hears footsteps. Firm, determined. She knows who they belong to. She also knows who they remind her of. She pushes _him_, out of her mind and looks up, to face Mycroft Holmes, standing on the other side of the small table between them.

* * *

_**Notes: Yes, I have been neglecting my writing forever. But here it is, a chapter that finally needed to be done. Apologies to anyone that might be actually following this story. The rest of this fic will be post canon, so hopefully a more regular update? (Original found at: .net(slash)**__**s/11953837/1/Irises )**_

_**The song lyrics at the beginning are from Gabrielle Aplin's "Please Don't Say You Love Me".**_


	6. Chapter 6

_So they dug your grave_

_And the masquerade_

_Will come calling out_

_At the mess you've made_

* * *

"Dr Hooper," Mycroft Holmes begins, in that slow, drawling voice of his. His gaze is steel, staring at her, _through_ _her. _She looks away, unable to face his stone cold stare. It reminds her of someone else that used to employ that method when he knew she wasn't telling the truth. It used to work, back then, but only because of what he meant to her.

"Mr Homes," she replies with as much equanimity as she can muster. Her voice sounds fairly steady, and she internally sighs in relief.

"There have been many...events recently, for which we were unable to explain the source of information. It would have to be someone close to my brother."

_Oh_. She realises he is accusing her of betraying Sherlock, and her immediate response is to shake her head, even before he asks her. A move that, she quickly realises, is very easy to turn against her.

"Ah yes, of course, you deny it. Doesn't everyone?" Mycroft crosses his legs, never breaking his gaze. He picks up a thick paper file. "I usually have all of my brother's..._associates_ investigated as and when they walk into his life. You, however, I had made an exception for. Clearly, that was a mistake."

She feels goosebumps raise her flesh as he opens the file. That old, familiar fear, that had haunted her for years after she began her new life. _Did he find out?_

"There are no records of you, Dr Hooper, from before the year...1991. Why?" He says it calmly, but she feels as if behind the thin layer of ice, he is waiting to burst out at her.

Just like everyone always did, back in her childhood.

"I don't know," she tries, feebly. There were tears in her eyes, and she knew he would never be fooled by the lie. But she had no other options, no prepared fabrication that would get her out freely and safely.

"I see," he replies, his voice betraying no emotions. "I am not a man who believes in _chances_, Dr Hooper. So I will only ask you once more. _Who were you?_"

"I ran away at 16. I changed my name and identity, and... here I am." The truth, but not the whole truth. The best she can do, given the circumstances. she hopes it is enough for him, but she doesn't trust it.

"You clearly take me for a fool, Dr Hooper. I had the records searched for anyone matching your description, that went missing, ran away or otherwise disappeared around the time. And lest you had faked your death, I looked at those records too. There is also nothing about the transactions of vast amounts required for the plastic surgery you would need to change your appearance drastically enough. Would you care to explain?"

She remembers the effort she put into the elaborate ruse that was no longer a ruse, but her life. She had no magic, no means of securing an identity. So she had gone to the one person she could trust. Reg. She had shown up at his door in the middle of the night, begging him to do the impossible. He had been able to change her appearance to some degree of permanence, (an experimental spell of his own design), and then Obliviated himself, at her request. And that, had been that. Iris Longbottom was gone forever.

But clearly, she had been wrong. Here she is, being questioned about the very past she has fought to forget.

And she cannot answer. She cannot break the Statue of Secrecy, and neither can she worm her way through this. Her mind goes back to an old thought, of the kind she used to have back in her childhood home. _Maybe she should have-_ No. She stops herself. She promised him she wouldn't, and she wants to keep whatever part of him she still can.

"If you don't comply, I will be forced to take drastic steps."

She doesn't say a word.

"Very well," comes his reply, like a death sentence to her ears.

* * *

_**Notes: Surprise, two updates in less than a week? *gasps* I do want to get this fic finished, though, so yes. 2-3 more chapters I think. :)**_

_**(Original found at: .net(slash)**__**s/11953837/1/Irises )**_

_**The song lyrics at the beginning are from Imagine Dragons' "Demons".**_


End file.
